


Cello Suite No. 1 in G major: I. Prelude and Nocturne No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 72, No. 1

by DesertPersephone



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottoming from the Top, Crossdressing, Hand Jobs, How to care for your witcher, I digress - Freeform, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Wiedźmin | The Witcher-Typical Bathing, but not really, corsets, henry cavill sherlock holmes, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertPersephone/pseuds/DesertPersephone
Summary: Returning home from a hunt was always the light at the end of preverbal tunnel for Geralt.It was even more of a shinning light when he realized that Jaskier had a plan for his return.__otherwise known as the historically accurate Victorian AU smut fic no one asked for
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	Cello Suite No. 1 in G major: I. Prelude and Nocturne No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 72, No. 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhh anyway i saw the trailer for enola holmes way back when and have been working on this ever since because i love the victorian era and also henry cavill and i'm just a slut

There was a surprise waiting for him upstairs. He just didn’t know it yet.

No, at the current moment he was far more focused on the squelching of his left boot, and how he absolutely was never taking an ‘in-town’ job again. They were far more trouble than they were worth, and he didn’t relish dragging this much viscera into the flat. Even if in-town jobs were where he made his best money. Everyone always had a monster under their bed that needed slaying, and they were far more likely to pay the man who drank with them at the pub by the wharf then the one who strayed into town with a stern look in his eye.

At least everyone in town already knew that Geralt’s stern look wasn’t going to turn them to stone.

Climbing the steps after closing the gate behind him, Geralt fit his key in the lock of their front door and stepped inside the small mud room where he was quick to leave the grimiest of his clothing: boots, overcoat, gloves, swords. He avoided glancing at himself in the opposite mirror before locking the door again and stepping into the rest of the house.

There was no answer to his light footsteps, no cry of  _ “Oh darling, I missed you!”,  _ no fling of arms around him.

But there was the faintest echo of music coming from the third floor, and Geralt recognized it immediately as Jaskier’s favorite cello piece played over the phonograph. Geralt eagerly made his way up, ears picking it up as he climbed, following it like a hound, his smile only growing more and more excited as he came to the door to their bedroom.

But that room was also empty.

Or at least as ‘empty’ as it usually was.

The massive four-poster bed was untidy and the duvet was half on the floor among the scattering of parchment and books. Every flat surface in the room seemed to have a similar terrain of books and parchments and pens, collections of debris that both Geralt and Jaskier were responsible for. They had a handful of extra rooms, and each seemed to be just as packed with belongings, or tools of their trades, but the bedroom was the most personal. Bookshelves tall enough to need a ladder covered one side of the room, where Geralt’s second desk sat. The opposite side hosted Jaskier’s cello and collection of music, both of his own hand and others, so numerous they spilled off the stands and the table and out of their folders and onto the rug. When they had first moved in, it had been strange to have such a large room available to them, both so used to the tiny lodgings found along the Path, let alone a whole flat, and was only recently that they had begun filling up the other rooms with things.

The curtains were open, and let in light from the streetlamps outside, but the room was also illuminated by the indoor gas lamps which flickered and made Geralt feel more at home than he had ever felt anywhere else.

He had found the source of the music, but not Jaskier. His nose picked up a distinctly floral scent though, and he moved through the room to the door on the other side from the bed, gently opening it to find himself in their master bath.

The room was steamy and warm, filled with golden light and the rich smells of Jaskier’s bath oils; roses and peonies. Closing the door behind him to keep the heat and the steam in, Geralt took a step forward and reached up to undo his ascot.

“Not so fast my love.”

Jaskier appeared through the fog of steam, the soft white billowing of his shirt tucked into his blue trousers and only constrained by the tight straps of his suspenders. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the placket in the front unbuttoned all the way, allowing Geralt to stare not only at the elegant shapes of his hands and wrist, but also that of his throat and collarbones. Which wasn’t a rare sight, Jaskier often left his shirts and ascots looser than socially permitted.

But perhaps it was the adrenaline and potions still coursing through his veins that made him zero in on the quick flick of Jaskier’s pulse beneath his pale skin, and he quickly closed the distance between them, reaching for his partner, wrapping him in arms stronger than tree trunks, Geralt’s enthusiasm pulling a pearl of laughter from Jaskier.

Strong, calloused hands drug over the thick wool of Geralt’s trousers up to his waist, and Geralt overtaken by the scent of honey and sandalwood and summer roses that wafted naturally off the musician.

“Good evening to you too,” Jaskier chuckled, looping his arms around Geralt’s neck and leaning in to kiss him gently. Geralt only answered with a hum before pressing his nose to Jaskier’s neck, breathing in the smell of his skin - the smell of home. They parted for a moment, Jaskier taking a step back to begin.

“Hands down,” he said softly, glancing at Geralt before steadily beginning to work on the buttons of Geralt’s waistcoat while Jaskier’s nose brushed his cheek. And it was a struggle for the witcher to put his hands down, to drop them from where they sat against Jaskier’s waist, to do as he was told. But he couldn’t keep himself from nosing at his hair when he leaned closer, wanting nothing more than to press himself skin to skin with Jaskier until his cellist was all anyone could smell on him. The black waistcoat fell to the floor, followed by the black ascot. Jaskier’s fingers curled under Geralt’s suspenders and pushed them off his shoulders, before he all but ripped the starched collar from Geralt’s shirt and that was more than Geralt could take.

His hands lifted from his sides again, needing to touch, coming to cup Jaskier’s elbows and running up the back of his arms. But as soon as his hands touched Jaskier, the other pulled away, putting space between them again, seeming to dance his way across the tile to the tub to check the water temperature.

“Finish undressing so we can get you into the bath,” he said, the husky temptation gone from his voice as he checked the water “How was the job? You were gone for longer than I thought you would be, but not as covered in muck as I thought you might be.”

“Hmm.” Geralt shook his head, trying to clear it as he worked on his button fly, stepped out of his pants and left them pooled on the floor as he tugged his shirt over his head. “It was fine, there were three more rotfiends then the man thought there was going to be.”

“Uh huh,” Jaskier perched himself on the lip of the tub as he watched Geralt undress, hungry eyes taking in the scarred skin of his arms and stomach, drinking in every inch that was revealed to him while at the same time checking for injuries that he might need to tend to. “And?”

Geralt rolled his eyes as his last piece of clothing fell to the floor and he was as nude and as pale as a marble statue before he crossed to Jaskier, rough hands reaching out to run over Jaskier’s thighs, leaning down to brush their lips together.

“And they were ravenously feeding on one of the unfortunate dockhands who worked in the market above when I arrived,” Geralt whispered against Jaskier’s mouth before the other pulled back, lips curling into a smirk, pink as the blooms of the sweet pea, and softer than the petals.

“Disgusting. How did you dispatch them? Did you rescue the man? Details, Geralt! I need them! See, this is why I should have gone with you, you still don’t have an eye for the artistry of your hunts. How am I ever going to finish my book if you don’t tell me the details!”

But Geralt was quick to catch the hand Jaskier had raised in the most dramatic of fashion, fingers curling around the delicate wrist before him, an eyebrow raising.

“Are you going to talk all night?”

“Perhaps you should shut me up.”

Their lips met again, eager and excited and Geralt wasted no time in claiming Jaskier’s mouth for himself, tongue slipping in hot and wet and eager. Jaskier moaned against Geralt’s mouth for a moment, running his hands over the wide, strong chest before him, fingers curling in the smattering of chest hair there and tugging before he pulled back, much to Geralt’s chagrin.

“You’re right. Enough dawdling, get in the tub, I have  _ plans  _ for you tonight dear.” Jaskier flashed a brilliant smile before standing and slipping away from Geralt, motioning for him to get in the tub.

Geralt only frowned deeper as Jaskier moved away and he was left to climb into the tub, displacing the sweet, milky water when he lowered himself in. The water was slick with oils and fragrance, and Geralt immediately felt himself relax. As much as he, and his cock, wanted to get to the main event, the hot water immediately soothed his muscles and he let his eyes flicker shut, a sigh leaving him.

He couldn’t see Jaskier as he moved around the back of the tub to sit on the little ornate stool he had bought, but Geralt could tell that he was smiling as he dipped his hands into the water, running them down over the witcher’s chest and then back up, spreading the warmth over Geralt’s dry shoulders.

“How do you like the oils I used? Not too strong?” Jaskier asked, working to rub the fragrant water into Geralt’s chest and shoulders, effectively washing away his sweat as well.

“No,” the witcher replied, voice deep and low in his chest, rumbling out like the slow rolling of thunder. Jaskier leaned even farther forward to rub his hands over Geralt’s lower stomach and then back up to scritch at the back of his neck. “It’s perfect.”

Geralt all put purred as Jaskier’s fingernails scraped over the base of his snow-white curls, letting his head hang forward to stretch out his neck, sighing. Jaskier always knew exactly what Geralt needed after a hunt, he always knew how to get his witcher to relax and unwind but also how to leave the hunt behind him. How to forget.

“Jaskier,” the name spilled past his lips and Geralt immediately felt the press of Jaskier’s soft lips to his cheek.

“Yes, my dear?” Jaskier’s hand slipped down over Geralt’s shoulder again while the other stayed in his hair and Geralt groaned, still blind to the actions of the other as his eyes remained shut. Jaskier’s calluses were tough but soft from the lotion he used daily on his hands. They documented a trail across Geralt’s torso, slow and careful over the swell of his chest and the flat, hard planes of his stomach before stopping just above his cock, slowly carding through the hair around his base.

Geralt groaned and let his head fall back into the curling fingers as Jaskier’s hand wrapped around him, gentle and careful. He slid the circle of his hand up, encouraging Geralt’s cock to rise to full hardness, his fingers gently teasing at his foreskin. Jaskier pressed another kiss to Geralt’s cheek as the large man let out a heavy breath, his body relaxing even farther before Jaskier’s hand disappeared again.

“Oh, don’t fret, I’m not going to forget,” Jaskier chided him softly when Geralt opened his mouth to do just that. “Dip down, I want to wash your hair first.”

There was a light two finger tap against Geralt’s shoulder before the witcher was willingly moving to dip his head under the water, eyes shut tight and breath held before Jaskier brought just his face back out of the water. Jaskier’s fingers began to scrub castile soap into his short locks, cleansing them of whatever filth he was sure he had acquired as he had crawled through the cobwebs in search of the rotfiend. Jaskier carefully rinsed the soap out, his voice filling the room as he quietly told Geralt about his day, which was spent far from monster infested basements. He coaxed Geralt to sit up and lean back again, working an oil mixture through his hair to help moisturize Geralt’s beautiful curls.

Or at least that's what Jaskier always said when he did it.

“Alright, now, just relax, just lean back, shh, that was nice wasn’t it? A little massage on your scalp,” Jaskier cooed gently, smoothing Geralt’s hair back from his forehead.

A golden eye cracked open in response and Geralt leveled Jaskier with as much of a glare as he could muster. “Yeah. I just wish it were on my cock and not my scalp.”

The answering laugh echoed brilliantly off the tile walls and Jaskier quickly pressed another kiss to Geralt’s temple before his lips found their way to his mouth and he licked in between the witcher’s lips. Geralt couldn’t help the groan that left him, the needy, deep echo of his longing as Jaskier’s tongue slipped between his lips and his hand slipped below the water again.

Jaskier’s hand closed around him and was met with an eager jerk before gently tugging the length of Geralt’s cock. The oils in the water were slick and helped to ease the way as Jaskier stroked on his cock from base to tip. The teasing seemed to have been dispensed for the evening, because his grip was firm and sure, confident in the motions as he twisted his palm over Geralt’s head. The witcher moaned into Jaskier’s mouth, the tile room echoing back every wet slosh of the water as Jaskier’s hand moved and every pathetically broken moan that the musician ate up in turn.

Letting his eyes slip closed, Geralt could only focus on the tight friction of Jaskier’s fist when he pulled his foreskin back and focused solely on the head of his cock. And Geralt wanted to come so badly, so desperately badly, he was aching for release, cock throbbing as Jaskier squeezed the base and then roughly tugged upward, dragging a low moan near to a growl from Geralt.

“Oh, darling.” Jaskier’s voice was right there in his ear, a purr more than anything, his other hand reaching around to pull on a pebbled, pink nipple, making Geralt choke a little. “Darling you want to finish, don’t you? Oh, I can feel it, I can tell, your cock is so hard, and your voice is so rough. Do you want to come for me? Just for me?”

Geralt couldn’t find the words for a moment but finally he nodded, letting out the breath he was holding in a rush.

“Please, Jaskier, please.”

He could feel Jaskier’s smile curl against his cheek before he nodded, pressing a kiss there, a silent permission for Geralt as the hot circle of his hand passed over the head of his cock again, quick and tight and driving Geralt over the edge with a grunt. His fingers tightened on the rim of the metal bathtub and he whined – actually whined – as seed spurt from him into the bathwater.

Slumping back into the water, Geralt heaved a heavy sigh. He could fall asleep right here, it would be so easy, and he was so relaxed. But he felt Jaskier’s lips on his cheek again and he turned his head to look at his companion, eyes fluttering open and lips meeting in a grounding kiss.

“Very good, darling. I love watching you climax, it's beautiful.” Jaskier ran his hands over Geralt’s thighs, taking a moment to help center his witcher before standing and stretching. “Finish up, alright? I’ll wait in the bedroom. And Geralt? Don’t forget this.”

Jaskier was on the way out of the room, Geralt already moving to stand, when he tapped a metal vessel, sitting clean and shiny, on the edge of the counter near their narrow shower. Geralt’s face burned, not at the indication of the object but at the implications. Jaskier was far from done with him. He grunted his agreement, a smirk curling over his lips as the other left the steam filled room.

Stepping out of the tub and padding to the counter, trailing water as he went (what was the point of drying off, he’d be wet again soon enough), Geralt picked up the vessel, careful with the attached tubing and took it to the shower to fill with water.

Cleaning himself was a meditative process that he didn’t hate nearly as much as Jaskier did, but perhaps it was because Geralt had gone through far, far more uncomfortable and awkward things. . It also gave him time to recover from his orgasm, to calm down and to rise from the numbing respite that had settled in his limbs from the bath. And when he was done, Geralt turned off the shower and pulled the stopper on the tub, letting the heavily scented water drain away before he tugged his dressing gown on from its place on the back of the door and stepped out into their bedroom.

Jaskier had changed the cylinder on the phonograph, the wailing of the cello replaced by the delicate pitter-patter of a piano, and the fire in the hearth had been stoked to a small flame again. The curtains were closed, but the flames burned brightly and Geralt was overcome with the now familiar comfort of home, a feeling he had only come to know after meeting Jaskier. The other had always managed to make even the dearriest of lodgings welcoming.

“Jaskier?” Geralt called out for him as he stopped by the bed, brow furrowing. His companion was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps he had gone down to the kitchen to make himself a midnight snack.

But then he heard Jaskier’s voice come from behind the dressing screen in the corner of the bedroom, and Geralt could catch glimpses of him moving through the delicately carved design. He caught the flutter of an eyelash and the pale ghost of naked skin, as Jaskier peered out at him.

“Don’t move another inch, dear heart. I have something to show you.”

Slowly, Jaskier revealed himself from behind the screen. The steam from the bath had made his fine hair curl around his face, making him look even more boyish and youthful than usual and Geralt noticed that Jaskier was barefoot on the rug, and his legs were bare as well, knees tipped slightly in as he posed like Venus. His soft cock was nestled between his legs, surrounded by a dark halo of hair that Geralt wished to bury his nose in, the dusty pink flare of his head exposed to Geralt’s hungry gaze. Jaskier had told him that his parents had had him circumcised as an infant at the doctor’s advice, so as to stop ‘self-abuse’ in his later years. Jaskier had then added with a pearl of laughter that he thought it had had the opposite effect on him.

But Geralt couldn’t linger long on the beautiful sight of his partner’s cock, as it was half hidden by the white hem of that same billowy shirt. That shirt still had its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his collar open to expose all of Jaskier’s pale neck, collarbones and thick decoration of chest hair. The shirt wasn’t the final piece in the surprise, however.

Jaskier wore a peach-colored corset cinched tightly from his breast to his hip. The piece of underwear was decorated with white lace at the top and the most delicate blue embroidery that ran like dripping water from his chest to the bottom of the corset.

“Jaskier –”

Geralt’s voice caught in his throat and suddenly the room was far too hot, the thick dressing gown far too much clothing. Jaskier’s waist looked so small beneath the layers of coquille and whalebone, small enough that surely Geralt could easily wrap both his hands around him. And when Jaskier began to move closer to him, Geralt had to resist the urge to do just that.

But Jaskier had told him to stay still.

“Jaskier – ” he repeated, eyes widening slowly, his pupils dilating until there was hardly even a ring of gold around them.

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier asked, close enough that Geralt’s could feel his breath as he spoke.

“You – ”

“Yes?”

“You look – ”

“Uh huh, how do I look?”

He had slipped his hand down to slide into the gap of Geralt’s dressing gown, shamelessly taking him in hand again and stroking.

_ “Amazing.” _

The word left him like a prayer, and he couldn’t help how his hands came up to rest on the laces at Jaskier’s back, realizing that he had put himself in this, he had pulled and pulled and pulled – perhaps tied himself to the bedpost and walked forward – until he was this small, all by himself.

“I’m very glad you think so.” Jaskier chuckled a little, reaching up to run the thumb of his freehand over Geralt’s cheek, before leaning in for a little kiss. “Did you do what I asked?”

Geralt nodded helplessly and Jaskier kissed him again, praise for being a good witcher, before he released his cock and took a step back, hand sliding into Geralt’s.

“Shall we retire to bed?”

Following, Geralt couldn’t help his laugh as he looked at the mattress, sheets and blankets still tangled from when Jaskier had crawled out this morning, hours after Geralt himself had woken up. He cast a glanced over at Jaskier, an eyebrow raising.

“You couldn’t bother to make the bed?”

“Well, no, I was a bit busy getting myself into  _ this _ ,” Jaskier’s look of indignation was hilarious and Geralt leaned in to kiss his frown away. “Besides we’re about to ruin the sheets, I didn’t see the need.”

Geralt responded only with a grunt before sitting on the bed, tugging the tie loose and letting the fabric fall open around his hips. He reached out to rest a hand on Jaskier’s hip, letting him approach and stand between his legs, humming gently as he buried his nose in the soft column of Jaskier’s throat. He knew that Jaskier had more planned for them, he was well aware of it, but he could not help himself from basking in the sweet scent of Jaskier’s arousal - sweet like honey, but as sharp and spicy as fresh cracked black pepper.

“I’ve been thinking - ” Jaskier started, his voice a soft purr as his fingers trailed over the edge of Geralt’s robe, gentle, teasing “about this all day, about taking you on our bed, about you stretched around my prick, your arse in my hands. You have a lovely arse; did you know that? I’m sure I’ve told you that plenty of times before.”

“You have.” Geralt couldn’t help the blush on his cheeks though as he pulled back to let the robe fall from his shoulders, pushed by Jaskier’s eager fingers. “Can we – would you mind – uh…”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and smiled, giving Geralt the tiny bit of encouragement he knew he would need. Even after all these years it wasn’t easy for Geralt to ask for things, at least not verbally. But they were working on it. And he was significantly better then when they started.

“Can you, maybe… tie me up?” He finally managed to get out, a whisper more than anything. But Jaskier heard him just fine.

“Of course I can, to the bedposts? Your wrists? Oh, Geralt you’re making me hard.” He buried his laugh in Geralt’s mouth.

“Yes. On my knees.” It was easier, once the first request was made, and Geralt hardly even looked away as he asked. Jaskier acquiesced with another kiss, stepped back from Geralt to check the ropes already tied to the bottom posts on their bed while Geralt climbed onto the mattress, waiting patiently, sitting back on his haunches. He could tell how much Jaskier wanted to just climb upon the mattress and ravage him, he could smell it, hear it in the pounding of his veins. But Jaskier waited, cock half-hard and plump between his legs.

“Wait.” Geralt shifted closer to the edge of the bed as Jaskier adjusted the rope, making loops for Geralt to slide his hands through. Standing and leaving the dressing gown on the bed, Geralt easily knelt before his cellist, shifting a little as his hip twinged before he looked up at Jaskier. “Can I. . . ?”

“Oh Geralt. Of course you can.” Jaskier nodded and was quick to pick up a pillow for Geralt to kneel on, more than aware that the position would make his hip cramp. But once he was comfortable, Geralt was swift to lean in, fingers wrapping around the base of Jaskier’s half hard cock and lifting it to meet his plush lips. He dropped a gentle kiss on the head of his cock before parting his lips and taking Jaskier into his mouth. Geralt’s eyes flicked up, searching as he felt the fleshy weight of the cock against his tongue. He pulled back just a little, hollowing his cheeks when he leaned back in to take Jaskier farther into his mouth. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s cock responding eagerly to the wet heat of his mouth, and when fully hardened, Geralt dropped his hand away, letting it rest instead on Jaskier’s thigh.

Jaskier’s eyes were closed, his calloused fingers coming to pet at Geralt’s hair, brushing the damp white curls back. The touch was soft and reverent, as Jaskier always was in bed, fingertips trailing over Geralt’s forehead like he was a porcelain teacup, gentle in a way that Geralt had never been with himself. He flicked his gaze away from Jaskier’s face, focusing instead on the thick, dark hair in front of him. Jaskier was rather proud of his body hair, always one to find a way to show it off as soon as they were out of polite society.Jaskier would always be the first to abandon his ascot and allow his shirt and waistcoat to fall open as if he was one of the beautiful red headed woman in a Rossetti painting, but he did keep his pubic hair trimmed and oiled neatly as part of his extensive beauty ritual, and the tip of Geralt’s nose was soon buried there in the soft, short hair.

Letting out a groan as the head of his cock slipped into Geralt’s throat, Jaskier’s fingers tightened slightly on the back of his head and Geralt let the heady, strong scent of Jaskier’s arousal fill his nose, his eyes fluttering shut while Jaskier’s breathing echoed loudly around them. Geralt chose to remain still for a moment, his mouth full and tongue pressed against the underside of Jaskier’s cock, before pulling back to bob his head, lips slick with saliva. Jaskier let out a moan, soft words of approval starting to slip from his lips as Geralt sucked him off. His one hand was still curled in Geralt’s hair while the other pressed against the front of his corset, hips tipping forward ever so slightly. Geralt wasn’t terribly showy or loud, he wasn’t aggressively creative with his tongue or his hands the way Jaskier was when he did this, but it didn’t matter, the wet heat of Geralt’s mouth still made Jaskier’s cock throb and ache, pleasure licking in his gut, as his cock slid from between Geralt’s lips.

Taking a moment to catch his breath and brush his thumb over Geralt’s cheek, Jaskier smiled, looking down at the witcher on his knees before he stooped to kiss him, pushing his mouth into Geralt’s mouth, tasting himself faintly. He was sure the flavor of his cock was far more potent to Geralt.

“Ready?” He asked, and Geralt responded with a wordless nod, letting Jaskier help him to his feet. He was already hard again, and Geralt gave himself a couple strokes as he climbed onto the bed and knee-walked into position, squeezing the head of his cock against the fleshy part of his hand between thumb and pointer finger.

Sliding his hands through the loops Jaskier had made, the bard gently tightened the soft rope and Geralt tested them before leaning in for one more kiss. Jaskier laughed against his mouth, a happy sound that Geralt couldn’t help but smile in response to as he pulled away. He relaxed back onto his calves as Jaskier disappeared from vision, but Geralt could easily hear him sliding open the bedside drawer and rifling through it for a moment. Geralt’s senses always seemed even more heightened than usual when he was aroused, and he could pick up the sound of Jaskier pushing aside the spare pieces of parchment he kept in the drawer as well before hearing the gentle clink of the bottle of oil being set down. He heard Jaskier’s fingers brush something metal and then the dribble of water falling from something back into the bowl. It was easy to piece together that Jaskier had set out the bowl with water to soak one of the calf skin sheaths they owned before Geralt had gotten home.

“You know,” came Jaskier’s voice as he dribbled oil onto his cock. “I hate the process these things come with, but not having to worry about clean up is a treat.” Geralt smiled a little, looking over his shoulder to see Jaskier just finishing tying off the red ribbon at the base of the sheath. “And the fact that I can’t put a girl in the family way, definitely not ready to have a little Jaskier running around the house. That is, when I  _ was  _ sleeping with random women.”

Jaskier grinned and winked at Geralt playfully before climbing onto the bed behind him. The mattress dipped a little and Jaskier threw Geralt’s dressing gown aside before reaching out to run his hands slowly over Geralt’s calves and up his thighs, trailing over the knotted scar that ran along the side of his right one before coming to knead his arse.

“Fuck I love this; I love your arse.” Jaskier whispered softly, hands spreading Geralt’s cheeks. He ran a teasing thumb over Geralt’s hole, pulling at it gently.

“Hmm. Are you planning to just look or fuck it?” Geralt grunted, looking over his shoulder at Jaskier and raising an eyebrow. Jaskier responded with a laugh, squeezing Geralt’s arse as he leaned forward to kiss the witcher, sheathed cock rubbing over his back.

“I could look at your arse all day I think.”

“I’m sure you could. But I would rather you fuck it all day.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely. . .” Jaskier pulled back to grab the vial of oil off the table and spread one of Geralt’s cheeks again to drizzle some down his crack, over the white hair there and down onto his balls. There was a moment where the oil amplified any coolness in the room while Jaskier paused to put the cork back on before his warm fingers were there to rub the oil over Geralt’s hole. A soft press of lips accompanied the first press of Jaskier’s fingers, slick and wet as they slipped inside Geralt.

A slow sigh rushed through Geralt’s nose as Jaskier pressed into him, slow and steady, careful. Far more careful than Geralt had ever been the first time he had taken someone in his ass. But going slow had quickly become far more enjoyable, for obvious reasons, but also because it allowed Geralt to relish in the stretch and twist of Jaskier’s fingers inside of him. And Jaskier was a master of taking his time with foreplay, though he was also a master of a quick fuck in an alley as well. He pressed his fingers farther into Geralt as if he were pouring black treacle in the winter, and they were so slick Geralt’s body could hardly even wish to clench down on them. Between the bath and the orgasm and the warmth of Jaskier’s hand on his lower back, Geralt was utterly relaxed, letting the ropes take his weight as he gripped them.

His head fell forward, curls falling into his eyes slightly as Jaskier finished pressing those first two fingers inside him, long and slender and curling just right to make Geralt shudder with pleasure. Jaskier’s voice found his ears, a word of praise on his lips as he drew his fingers out and slid them back in, pressing even deeper for a moment before pulling out and twisting them, hooking his fingers slightly to apply pressure against Geralt’s prostate.

“Jaskier!” He cried out, surprised and already aching for it all over again.

“Yes, love?” Jaskier’s fingers had pulled back, returning to their torturously slow slide and push before he began to scissor them open ever so slightly. “I want to hear you, Geralt, you were far too quiet.”

Only a grunt came in response and Jaskier easily found Geralt’s prostate again, teasing it gently this time and making the witcher only groan in response, tugging on his restraints.

“Good.” Jaskier’s voice was a purr as he dropped a kiss against Geralt’s shoulder. He continued to take his time fingering Geralt open, drizzling more oil over him before adding a third finger, and Geralt allowed himself to vocalize the pleasure of that new stretch. Had an orgasm brought on by just his fingers been the goal of the night, Geralt knew that Jaskier wouldn’t have hesitated to trust harder, to press his fingertips down on his prostate with every firm jab in, that Jaskier would have dispensed with the flowery prose of how velvet Geralt’s arse was and went right for the filth his tongue was more than capable of producing. But that was not the intent, and Geralt was sure that Jaskier’s own throbbing cock was constantly reminding him of that.

Soon enough Geralt was thoroughly stretched on Jaskier’s fingers and the bard seemed unable to contain his lust anymore, finally pulling his fingers from Geralt’s hole and searching the sheets for the bottle of oil. Looking over his shoulder, Geralt swallowed thickly and found his voice after a moment.

“Will you untie me? I want to see you while we . . . “ Geralt tugged a little on the ropes and Jaskier’s hand finally found the bottle of oil, looking up with a smile and moving forward to press his body against Geralt’s back, cock sliding between his cheeks.

“While we make love?” he teased softly, easily reaching up to tug the knot free on Geralt’s right wrist while his other hand reached around to stroke Geralt’s cock, sliding his foreskin back to rub his precum into the flush head.

“Fuck.” Geralt groaned, pushing back to grind his ass against Jaskier’s cock and forward into his hand at the same time, bracing himself with his newly freed hand on the bed. “Jaskier – ”

“What? Would you like me to call it something else? Would you like to look at me while I fuck your arse? While I fill you with my prick? Or maybe you want to look at me while you ride me? While you take that cock inside you, while you watch me watch my prick disappear inside your eager little hole? Oh, you want that don’t you? You want to ride my cock.”

Jaskier wasn’t wrong. That was exactly what Geralt wanted, and he couldn’t hide the way his cock had twitched when Jaskier had suggested it, always eager to betray his true wants. Not that he often hid them from Jaskier now, but the nature of his cock was still traitorous.

“Yes, yes, I want to ride you, I want to ride your prick.” The words came out of him in a rush, backed by a moan as Jaskier squeezed the base of Geralt’s cock. He felt Jaskier’s smile against the skin of his neck before his lips pressed a kiss there and pulled back to release Geralt’s other hand. The rush of air that came between them when Jaskier sat back was wholly unwelcome though, and Geralt quickly moved to eliminate it, pressing against Jaskier again and meeting his mouth in a desperate kiss. Jaskier laid back easily in Geralt’s embrace, falling against the pillows and stretching out so Geralt could once again take in the beautiful form of his body held in by the stiff whalebone against the soft bedding. Jaskier himself looked so delicately feminine with the cinch of his waist and the fine curl to his hair against the pillow, but Geralt was more than aware of just how strong his musculature was, how firm his thighs and biceps were, how deceptively strong his fine cellist was.

As much as he wanted to look at Jaskier, to drink in the image of him strewn across the bed like a maiden in renaissance painting, his arms gently curled above his head, fingers tangled in the sheets and cock, red hot and hard, jutting like a cathedral spire from his pelvis, as much Geralt wanted to commit the image to memory, he could not stop to appreciate the art of his lover for more than a moment as he swung his leg over Jaskier’s hips.

“The oil – ”

“Here,”

The cold glass vial was pressed into Geralt’s hand and the witcher made quick work and pouring a liberal amount over Jaskier’s cock before discarding it quickly. One of his hands rested on the firm corset covering Jaskier’s stomach and the other reached down to steady his cock and lowered himself onto the swollen length. The slick slide of the oil made it easy for Geralt to take Jaskier’s cock inside him, his arse welcoming the intrusion like a woman’s cunt, clenching only to pull Jaskier deep until his cheeks were against the bard’s hip bones and they both had to take a moment to catch their breath.

Jaskier had been muttering words of encouragement since the moment his cockhead had kissed the loose furl of Geralt’s asshole, telling Geralt how hot and wet he was, how good he felt around Jaskier, how well he was going to take his cock tonight, his hands roaming over Geralt’s thighs and up, over his stomach, tight with effort now that he was finally filled.

“Oh, how can you still be so tight?” he whispered, a moan choking off his words when Geralt shifted, leaning back on Jaskier’s cock, feet flat on the bed, his walls pulling and clenching around Jaskier. “Oh – Please Geralt, I’ve been waiting all night, ah, darling, please, please your arse is so tight around my cock – ”

Geralt chuckled softly, but he supposed it wasn’t fair to make Jaskier wait much longer, he was only human after all, and slowly Geralt started to move, shifting back and forth on Jaskier’s cock, relishing in the slow, luxurious slid of his rim around Jaskier’s shaft, and the deep pressure of his tip. Gradually he begane to build speed with the rolls of his hips, tipping his head back as he reached down to stroke himself, as Jaskier’s fingers dug into his hips.

“Fuck, Geralt, right there, fuck you feel so good, you look so good, stretched out around my cock, I wish you could see yourself, see the way you take my cock, you love to be filled by me don’t you? You cannot even pull yourself up from me, you love my cock so much,” Jaskier babbled a little, and the words went right to Geralt’s cock, jerking in his hand and spurting pre-cum down over Jaskier’s corset, staining the peach fabric dark and wet.

Pulling himself up a little more, Geralt was met with the desperate thrust of Jaskier’s hips before bringing himself back down with a slick noise, driving Jaskier’s cock right against his prostate. Jaskier seemed unable to keep his hips against the bed after, pushing up, trying to get deeper into Geralt while Geralt rode Jaskier with fast rolls of his hips, hand quickening on his cock and only pausing to gather spit to ease the way. Teasing Jaskier was the last thing on his mind as he jerked himself, pulling and tugging on himself as Jaskier filled him relentlessly.

His arse clenched tightly with the first warning of his impending climax, balls drawing up against him and Jaskier could feel how close he was, reaching down to spread Geralt’s thighs even farther to watch his cock, the red ribbon around the base vibrant against their pale skin, disappear into Geralt’s hole as it tightened once more before starting to clench in waves and Geralt’s cock began to jerk, spending white, hot streaks of seed over Jaskier’s corset and up as far as his chin. Geralt tensed and his toes curled as he finished, his free hand tight in the sheets by Jaskier’s knee, mouth agape with pleasure and ecstasy, the sight of his curls frizzy and messed. The spend rolling down the flushed head of his cock did Jaskier in, finishing himself deep inside the sheath and buried within Geralt with a shout as he tried to curl against Geralt, the corset holding him firmly to the bed.

Finally, Geralt’s body sagged and he had to lean forward to bury his face in Jaskier’s neck, pressing his nose into the familiar scent, clean hand dragging over Jaskier’s corset to tangle in his short hair. Roses and musk, sweat and sweet pea, Jaskier filled his nose and he barely even noticed when Jaskier grew soft and slipped from his body, the other’s arms so firmly around him.

“Geralt,” the voice was soft and breathless and Geralt only answered with a grunt, rubbing his nose against Jaskier’s shoulder. “Geralt, you need to get off of me, I can’t breathe.”

Jaskier laughed gently and Geralt’s reply was another grunt before he slowly rolled off of the cellist, at least enough so Jaskier could wiggle away, sucking in a dramatic breath that had Geralt gently batting at his shoulder. He distantly heard Jaskier climb from bed and the shifting sounds of his hands pulling open the busk at the front of his corset before he cleared his throat.

“So sorry to disturb your slumber, white one,” There was a strange mirth to his voice and Geralt cracked open an eye, to focus on Jaskier, now in his nightshirt, hands on his hips. “It seems  _ one of us _ left the oil uncorked and the sheets are even more ruined than I suspected they might be tonight.”

“So?”

“So, we need to change the sheets, which I am loath to do after that, but I don’t exactly wish to sleep in an oil pit tonight.”

“Sleep on the chaise,” Geralt grunted in response, his body rebelling against the thought that he would have to move.

“Sleep?! On the _CHAISE_?” Jaskier’s voice was indignant in a way that made Geralt laugh even as the bed dipped and his slender fingers pinched at Geralt’s sides, pushing on the massive witcher but only making him laugh more, a deep hearty sound. Geralt rolled over and grappled with Jaskier until he finally stopped trying to pinch him to death, Jaskier’s own laughter joining in.

“We can sleep in the guest room.” Geralt said after a moment, Jaskier having collapsed half on top of him. “It’ll be dusty, but you won’t dirty yourself with an oil stain.”

“No. You’ve stained enough things for me this evening.” He pinched Geralt once more before climbing off the bed by-way of over Geralt, a sharp knee landing in his gut. As payback, Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s ankle at the last moment and pulled him back to bed, grinning at the squawk that left him.

“Need I remind you that you decided to wear that corset, if we’re qualifying who made that mess.” Geralt’s lips brushed Jaskier’s as he spoke and the bard only laughed instead, reaching up to cup his cheeks, kissing him deeply.

“I’m not going to apologize for it, not when it means I got to see the way you looked at me. I’ll get the bed ready while you clean up, yes?”

Geralt hummed in agreement but didn’t let Jaskier go, seeking one last kiss (or four).

**Author's Note:**

> comment and kudos are well loved and much appreciated! I know commenting on what you liked in a smut fic always seems weird but please i live on comments!
> 
> and yes! they did have showers in the Victorian era! they weren't very common but they existed.


End file.
